Chapter 14

The road south had been rocky and bumpy making the hours pass slower than a hobbit choosing what to eat for their meal. Thorin had walked his pony along the jagged trail more than he rode–partly to be gentle on his pony's feet and partly to keep his mind busy. His fight with Kaleria played in his head over and over. He hadn't meant to be cruel, but looking back on some of the words, he had never regretted anything more.

They had covered a lot of ground in their journey in one day. At the pace they were going, the journey to the southern village would only take three more days, meaning they could return to Erebor sooner than planned. Thorin hoped the meeting with the southern village would be quick, so he could return to his wife sooner.

When they finally stopped, the travelers gathered around the single fire sharing food and drinks after a long day. A few played instruments and sang songs to pass the time before bed. Dwalin finished his plate of food and looked over the camp. Every pony was tied, every wagon was secured, and every man on watch knew his duty. His eyes landed on the shadow figure at the edge of camp looking out toward the open plain, toward Erebor.

Dwalin approached him from behind. "She'll be safe soon. My brother will see to that."

Thorin nodded, but continued to watch the horizon. "I have faith in your brother."

"Then why are you moping about over here?" Dwalin wasn't one to beat around the bush. If there was a problem, he was going to solve it.

Thorin looked at him. "We argued. I said awful words to her."

"Ah, that temper of yours got the better of you?" Dwalin smirked.

"She wouldn't listen! I was doing what I thought was right to protect her."

"Since when has Kaleria thoroughly listened to anything you've said?" asked Dwalin.

Thorin frowned, but didn't offer a verbal answer.

"I've known you my entire life, Thorin. I trust your judgment and I follow your lead, but you have moments when you lose sight of the bigger picture." Dwalin proceeded with more of his observations. "Should you have sent Kaleria home? Yes. Should you have gone with her? Probably. You are allowed to delegate to other people. We don't have to do our own fighting anymore. The dragon is gone. You are King Under the Mountain."

Thorin stared at the ground, processing the words of his friend. "She told me to send you on this journey, and go home with her."

Dwalin smiled. "Aye, she's a smart lass. Smarter than you, that's for certain."

Thorin playfully shoved his friend in the shoulder and the two men laughed.

"Come on," Dwalin threw an arm around Thorin's shoulders, "I'll help you start writing your apology for when we get back."

Thorin let his friend lead him toward the fire and to an empty log. They sat down together and took the offered canteen from another man and took long swigs of the amber liquid. He knew Dwalin was right, and now he wanted more than ever to return quickly to his wife.

The road south met the River in a head on collision before the two turned and started running parallel like the rivers of gold that flowed through the forges in Erebor. The caravan had followed the river for days hoping to meet the southern village soon and start their return trip home. The cartographer of the group looked at the map Dain had given them and searched for the landmarks in the landscape around them.

"What's wrong?" Thorin asked.

"According to this map, we should've reached the southern village by now." The cartographer explained.

Thorin looked around for anything reminiscent of a village, but saw nothing. "My cousin could be wrong in his renderings of the landscape. Let's go further south along the river. If we don't find anything by the end of the day, we'll set up camp and start our return trip home."

"Yes, sir." The cartographer started forward and the rest of the caravan followed.

Dwalin brought his pony to a stop next to Thorin. "You think something's wrong?"

"I'm not certain, but I won't continue on a wild goose chase for my cousin."

Trees had started to appear singularly, then in groups along the banks of the river. As they marched forward, the groups grew tighter and taller, making it nearly impossible to see what lay ahead. The landscape remained flat for fifty yards before dropping off into a low spot. At the edge of the drop off, Thorin looked down and saw the remains of the southern village.

A group of ten buildings lined a squared off area at the end of a dirt road that led from the buildings to the river. Along the road stood a few small homes and shelters of varying sizes. Based on the amount of buildings, Thorin surmised the population of the village could never have been more than a hundred people. However, now it lay empty with no signs of any one still living there.

The caravan continued into the village, walking past each house and building, waiting for someone, or something to appear. The doors had been left open carelessly, as if the inhabitants had left in such a hurry they couldn't be bothered to shut them. The eeriness of the empty village creeped around the caravan like wargs stalking their prey.

Thorin stopped his pony in front of the largest building and dismounted. He stared up at the brick structure, admiring the craftsmanship, and wondering why someone would abandon it all.

Dwalin stopped next to Thorin and dismounted. "What do you think happened?"

"I'm not sure." Thorin turned and looked back down the road at the other empty shelters, deciding they had been abandoned for a while. "This place was someone's village at one time, but no one had stayed here for weeks, maybe even months."

"What do we do?" Dwalin asked.

"We sleep here for the night. We'll return the goods to Dain and tell him his map needs some adjustment." Thorin replied.

Dwalin nodded and started toward the others to give them their orders.

Thorin tied his pony, Kladian, to the fence surrounding the building. He removed the saddle and wiped him down before taking off the bridle and putting on a halter with a long lead rope. Kladian put his head down and started munching on grass like he hadn't eaten in weeks.

With his pony taken care of, Thorin turned and watched his men set up camp. No surprise to him, none of them wanted to sleep inside the vacant buildings. Though they didn't know what had happened to any of the villagers, the energy surrounding the empty buildings warded them off from disturbing anything inside. Soon the fires were burning brightly around the camp and the smell of cooking meats drifted around.

Thorin found a stool near the corner of the house and set it up against the wall. He lowered himself and sat down heavily, suddenly exhausted from traveling so far. He rested his head against the wall and looked up at the evening sky. The sun had begun to sink, revealing one star at a time, each one blinking into existence slowly.

Unlike the stars taking their time in the night sky, thoughts of Kaleria appeared in a flash like cracks of lighting in a storm. Thorin's thoughts were never far from bringing Kaleria to mind. Now more than ever, he wandered about her safety and the safety of their child. He couldn't wait for the morning and the opportunity to lead their journey home.